


How I Go

by BluSakura



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 07:33:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6745147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluSakura/pseuds/BluSakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He breathed, pressing his nose to the downy-soft strands of his son's dark hair, his calloused fingertips tracing the freckles across the sleeping baby's cheeks." Moments in the life of Fakir, Ahiru, and their family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How I Go

**Author's Note:**

> Son, I am not everything you thought that I would be,  
> But every story I have told is part of me;  
> Son, I leave you now, but you have so much more to do  
> 'Cause every story I have told is part of you.  
> — "How I Go" by Yellowcard

He was so young back then, and the memories sometimes escaped him. So, when they filtered in through the web of tall tales, the grinding of gears, and the scratching of quills, he clutched desperately to those shades of the past with ink-stained fingers and scarred hands that weren't always quite so marred.

There was a time when he didn't want to remember. Now, he wished for nothing but.

The sounds of his mother humming as she swept the floors; the way his father sipped at his tea (so carefully).

Did she sing him lullabies as he slept, singing stories of knights and goblins and giants as she tucked him in? Did he lift him onto his shoulders and spin, so high and so fast that he could almost touch the clouds? Maybe he dreamt it all, and lost them in those moments—in the silent space between sleep and awake.

Memories were elusive. Fragile. Yet, still heavy, imprinting upon his very self whether they happened or not.

"It was real," his wife once said as he buried his tear-stained cheeks into her neck and shoulder, "if it's real to you. That's all that matters."

Belief. Fervent faith and hope and courage.

It was what got them through it all, right?

He breathed, pressing his nose to the downy-soft strands of his son's dark hair, his calloused fingertips tracing the freckles across the sleeping baby's cheeks.

What would the boy remember of him one day?

His eyes stung as he felt his wife's arms wind about his shoulders, her orange hair tickling the back of his neck.

There was a time when he didn't want to remember. Now, he wished for nothing but. And though the past continued to slip away, he kept the present close to his heart, and the future within his grasp.


	2. Foul Village!

Ahiru almost dropped the basket of groceries.

Chairs toppled over. The couch cushions stacked up into a tower in the corner. The tablecloth tied around her son's shoulders like a cape. And her husband, wielding a wooden spoon.

He smirked down at the boy, triumphant and posed with the dramatics he used to possess as a brooding, teenage knight. "Surrender, _boy_ ," he jeered playfully, "for your castle has fallen to my might."

"Never!" cried her son, the child's green eyes flashing with determination and mirth. The boy gripped a broom in his hands and held the bristles in his father's direction. "Do your worst, foul village!"

"—villain," Fakir corrected under his breath.

"—oh, right. Ahem! Do your worst, _foul villain_!"

Ahiru clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. And at her delighted squeak, her two favorite people whirled around to face her with matching, reddened faces, both dropping their "weapons" and freezing where they were.

Then, Fakir cleared his throat and stalked forward, suddenly grabbing her around her waist and heaving her right over his shoulder. " _Kyah!_ Fa _kir!"_ she laughed, her cheeks flushed from laughter. The groceries dropped, forgotten, to the ground.

"Come and rescue your princess," the villain challenged the young hero with a smirk, "if you _dare_."

"I'll save you, dear tassel!"

"—damsel."

"—oh, right."


End file.
